


ready to comply

by ariquitecontrary



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, M/M, Open Ending, post-S3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-15 18:35:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19624315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariquitecontrary/pseuds/ariquitecontrary
Summary: Billy Hargrove dies on July 4th.On August 1st, something else wakes up.





	ready to comply

**Author's Note:**

> The Harringrove is literally a 'squint or you'll miss it' type thing, but IF I made this into a multi-chap fic, it would definitely be Harringrove so that's why the tag remains there. 
> 
> Anyway, I took #4 from Ihni on Tumblr and put a little twist on it so that's what this is.

Billy Hargrove dies on July 4th. 

He’s sure there’s a joke somewhere there, something about dying for his country or whatever, but he doesn’t make it. Partly because he can’t talk or even move. Partly because he’s too scared to laugh even if he could. 

There are fireworks going off as the last tentacle from the monster drives itself through his chest. Maybe that’s some kind of poetic justice for all the horrible shit he’s done. 

He’d never given any thought to dying, never really pictured it ever happening to him, which is maybe a little absurd considering the way his life had currently been going. But still, whatever he’d thought, dying to protect a little girl who he didn’t even know was not at the top of the list. Hell, it wasn’t even on the list. Yet that’s what had happened. He wonders if maybe that gives him some points. Although he hadn’t been looking for points when he’d done it. 

He doesn’t know exactly why he did it, but he does know that she reached out and touched his cheek and for the first time in years, he felt comforted. She looked at him like he wasn’t a monster, like she wasn’t scared of him. She looked at him like he mattered, like she cared about him. He couldn’t let her die; he wouldn’t. 

So he didn’t. 

He’s dead before he hits the ground. He’s dead before Max crouches over him, yelling and begging for him to wake up. He’s dead before the first tear she lets fall hits his chest. He’s dead before the other kids even realize it. 

He’s dead before they can call him a hero. 

.

.

.

He’s not on the beach anymore. He doesn’t know what life after death is supposed to be like, but he wasn’t quite expecting this. Darkness surrounds him. He can’t see anything at all and it’s fucking terrifying. He’s spent so much time being scared lately; he wishes he didn’t have to feel scared even in death. 

He wasn’t exactly expecting heaven, not after everything he’d done in his lifetime, so maybe this is hell. It’s not really what he pictured hell to be like, but then again, he’s alone in the dark and maybe that’s what hell is. Makes sense. 

_‘I wish it wasn’t you.’_

He whirls around at the voice, trying to see the person it came from, but his eyes are met with nothing but darkness. It’s okay, he doesn’t need to see. He knows who that voice belongs to. It had been the last thing he heard before he died. He would never forget it; _could_ never forget it. 

“Max?”

_‘It shouldn’t have been you.’_

“Max!” He yells out, louder this time. But she doesn’t answer him. The only thing he hears is the sound of his voice echoing around him until it fades away and then he’s alone again. 

“Max,” he whispers to himself, voice breaking. He doesn’t want to cry anymore. He’s cried so much already, but he’s scared. He’s still the scared boy he’d been before he died. He hadn’t been scared when he stood up to the monster and yelled at it, when he died for the girl. He’d been sure and ready. He hoped that he’d finally stop feeling scared in death. Guess guys like him don’t get what they want, even in the afterlife. 

What is he supposed to do? Does he just sit here for eternity and stare into this black abyss? The thought sends a chill down his spine. 

_‘Careful!’_

The voice comes out of nowhere just as Billy feels a sharp jab in his side. What the hell? 

_‘He is valuable…. The only one…. Soldier…. Alive.’_

Billy frowns at the words. Who is talking? Whose voice is that? He doesn’t know it. 

Before he can try to figure it out, he falls asleep. 

.

.

.

_‘We have to do something!’_

The voice startles him for two reasons. One, it comes out of nowhere, although maybe he should just get used to that. Two, it belongs to Steve Harrington. 

“Steve?” He whispers. He’s so tired of yelling. 

_‘Do something!’_

_‘He’s dead, Steve. Stop.’_

_‘We can’t let him die. He saved us! He saved the world, we can’t let him die!’_

_‘He was dead before he hit the ground.’_

_‘Bring him back. You can bring him back. Please.’_

_‘I can’t. I’m sorry.’_

He knows that voice. It belongs to the girl who saved him. She sounds so sad, like she’s crying and Billy wants to tell her to stop. She shouldn’t cry. He doesn’t regret doing what he did.

_‘Yes, you can!’_

Steve’s voice is raising now in a way that Billy has never heard it before. He doesn’t want to hear it anymore. He shakes his head, trying to get rid of it. Why does Steve sound like that? Why does he sound like he cares? 

_‘Please, bring him back.’_ His voice cracks and Billy puts his hands to his ears and presses them down as hard as they can go. 

_‘She can’t bring back the dead, Steve. No one can.’_

_‘We can’t let him die!’_

Billy screams this time. He screams as loud and as long as he can until his throat is raw and he starts coughing. 

When he stops, he can’t hear Steve’s voice anymore. He doesn’t know if he’s happy or upset over that fact. 

He doesn’t know how long he’s been here, in this black abyss. He’s walked and walked and walked and the darkness never seems to end. He used to cry, but he doesn’t anymore. What is there to cry about? He did this to himself after all. Maybe this is his punishment for how he acted all his life. He wouldn’t change it though; dying. He would die a million times if it meant he could save the girl who saved him. He wishes he could tell her just how she saved him in the end. He hopes that she knows. 

He’s walking for what seems like hours whenever that wave of dizziness comes over him again. It happens every so often and he knows what’s about to happen now. 

He closes his eyes and sleeps. 

.

.

. 

_‘Why would he do that?’_

It’s Wheeler’s voice now; Nancy’s, not her weirdo brother’s. Billy squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn’t want to hear her voice. 

_‘He was lost.’_ It’s the girl. _What is her name?_

 _‘He wasn’t all bad.’_ Max. Her voice is shaky and unsure, like she doesn’t even believe the words she’s saying. It makes Billy want to cry. _‘He had his moments.’_

_‘He just needed a friend. He needed someone to love him.’_

Billy’s lip wobbles and he shakes his head. Was he so weak? Was his father right all along? 

_‘He made it impossible to love him.’_

_‘No. Just hard; not impossible. Everyone deserves to be loved.’_

“Shut up!” He roars. “Stop! _Shut up_!” 

And they do. The voices disappear and he’s all alone again. Are these memories? They have to be. He’s going to be haunted by the words they said as his body laid to rot on the cold floor of the mall. He can’t think of a worse hell. 

He sits down and brings his knees up to his chest as he puts his head down. He wraps his arms around his legs and takes a deep breath. What kind of hell is this? Was this really how he was doomed to spend all of eternity? He would go mad. He can’t do this. He’s already starting to feel like he’s going crazy. 

Suddenly he hears a new voice. It’s deep and rough and speaking in a language he doesn’t know. He startles at it and strains to understand what it’s saying. It doesn’t sound far away and floaty like the other voices do. It sounds like it’s right behind him. 

“Who’s there?” He questions, even though he knows that he’ll never get an answer. 

The voice keeps talking, and another one joins in and he hops up from his spot on the floor, suddenly alert. 

“Hello?” But no one answers. 

Before he can actually start to lose his shit, there’s a sharp pain in his arm and he screams before the dizzy feeling comes back to him. And then he sleeps. 

.

.

.

Has it been hours? Days? Months? Years? Where is he? What’s happening? 

He’s starting to forget things; people, places, moments in time. He doesn’t understand what’s happening to him. He repeats his name to himself constantly throughout the day, forcing himself to remember. He names important people and things to himself, but it’s getting harder and harder to remember. 

“I am Billy Hargrove. My sister is Max Mayfield. I died on July 4th. I saved that girl. I was horrible. I was good. Max. Steve Harrington. Tommy. Carol. Mom.” 

“I am Billy Hargrove. My sister is Max…. Mayfield. I was horrible. I was… good. I died on…. I died on July 4th. Max. Steve Harrington. Tommy. Carol. Mom.” 

“Billy…. Billy Hargrove. Max. Steve… Harrington. Tommy. I… died.” 

“My name is….” 

“I am dead.” 

.

.

.

He opens his eyes and the darkness is gone. He is met with the brightest light he has ever seen. It’s blinding and he closes his eyes and blinks rapidly, trying to adjust to the sudden change. Everything is blurry and he can’t see in front of himself. 

He feels someone reach out to press a hand to his arm and he jumps up, suddenly more alert than he’s ever been. He reaches out and grabs them by the throat. He can’t see their face properly, everything is still fuzzy, but it doesn’t matter. He squeezes and lifts them off the ground and doesn’t let go until he hears a crack under his palm. 

As the body hits the floor, there’s a sound of laughter from the other side of him. 

“Incredible,” a man says in awe. “The monster lives on inside of him.” 

“It’s what kept him alive.” The voice has a deep accent to it that he can’t place and it’s hard to understand what he’s saying. It’s hard to understand any of this. 

He blinks some more until finally he can see again. He doesn’t know where he is. Who are these people? What is this place? 

A man with all white hair smiles at him and crouches down to his eye level. 

“Hello.” He doesn’t have an accent. “Do you know who you are?” 

He pauses. Shakes his head. 

“Excellent. My name is Dr. Brenner and your name is Fifteen.” 

He licks his lips and opens his mouth a few times before he can finally say the words. 

“Fifteen.” 

On July 4th, Billy Hargrove dies. 

On August 1st, Fifteen wakes up.

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to come cry and scream with me on tumblr @ lana-luthor


End file.
